Black Magic
by Snoball13
Summary: Selena Moore is the next generation in a family legacy that has been carried on since the very beginnings of England. How can she be anything else, with a father like Sirius Black?  Follows PS
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

CRASH!

I rose to my feet in humiliation, not needing to look around me to know that every face in the store was turned in my direction. Blood rushed to my cheeks as I brushed the dust off of my skirt.

A dumpy little woman wearing olive green robes bustled over from behind the counter and began babbling angrily at me. I involuntarily took a step back, and she brandished a finger in my face.

"I'm sorry!" I squeaked, raising my hands in surrender. "I didn't mean to! Nothing's even broken, I'm sorry!"

She continued to spew words at me, and I wondered why in the world I had thought it would be a good idea to go shopping in France. Considering, you know, I definitely didn't speak French.

When she pulled her wand from somewhere among the folds of her robes and waved it at me as well, I did what any normal eleven-year-old would do.

I ran.

I fled from the shop and into the streets, dodging people left and right, apologizing frantically to anyone who didn't move out of my way quickly enough. I turned a corner and leaned against the wall of the shop I had just passed. My breath was coming in short gasps, and I laughed to myself. Who knew shopping could be so exhausting?

All I was trying to do was avoid gaining too much attention for being a Brit, and what do I do? I go and knock over an entire blasted shelf of big iron cauldrons! In retrospect, I was glad it was cauldrons and not something fragile, like potion ingredients (neither of which happened to be the reason I had entered the shop), which would have made a real mess, and probably blown up the entire place.

When the shouting died down a while later I trudged back down the street to the little café that served as the entrance to the alley. I hadn't completed my mission for the day, but after the scene I'd created, I wanted nothing more than to be back at home, where everything was normal and the people spoke English. As I walked, I was too frustrated with myself to even admire the old-time elegance of the storefronts I was passing.

I was still getting funny looks as I stepped up to the fireplace in the back corner. What, did the French not use the Floo network, either? Merlin, the people there were weird.

Taking a handful of gritty powder from the dish on the mantle, I tossed it into the flickering flames and said, "Lighthouse Cottage!" The fire rose in a green swirl before me and I prepared myself for the violent dizziness before I closed my eyes and stepped into it.

When I walked, coughing, out of the fireplace at home, I paused momentarily to wipe the ash off of my clothes. My previously white shirt was now mottled in shades of grey.

Okay, so maybe people in France weren't so crazy if they didn't travel by Floo. Although I think they actually do….

Grinning, I decided that before I ever went back to shop in France, I would have to learn the native language

"Selena? Is that you?" my aunt called from the kitchen. "Where on earth have you been, girl?"

"Erm…." I had counted on my aunt being at work while I was away; unfortunately, I had forgotten that our family apothecary was closed on Wednesdays. "France," I called back.

"France?" she asked, startled, sweeping into the room. "What in Merlin's name were you doing there?"

"Shopping," I said meekly.

She rolled her eyes. After three years of living with me, she had gotten used to my adventurous spirit, but that didn't mean she understood or liked it. "Yes, well, you at least could have left a note. Anyway, the mail came this morning with a letter for you."

I perked up immediately; I never got mail.

"It's on the kitchen table, but –"

I never heard what she was going to say, because I was already in the kitchen ripping open a thick envelope that was addressed to me in bright green ink.

I only ever read the first line of the letter; after that I was too excited to do anything but grin like a fool.

"YES!" I shouted. "Aunt Ivy, Aunt Ivy, guess what!"

"What is it?" she asked, watching me from the doorway to the kitchen.

"I got into Hogwarts!"

"I never doubted you would, dear," she said wearily. I had been bothering her and Uncle Ben for weeks about when my letter would come. Both of them had gone, and so had my mother. So had my father, come to think of it, but we didn't really talk about him. Ever.

I started dancing a little jig around the table. "I got into Hogwarts, I got into Hogwarts, I got int –"

The family owl, Sunshine (I named him at age five when my mum gave him to Aunt Ivy for her birthday), gave a reproachful hoot, and I glowered at him.

"Oh, shut up, Sunny," I snapped. "You'd be excited, too, if it was you that got in." Which of course was ridiculous, as owls can't be wizards and therefore can't be accepted into Hogwarts.

I continued my hopping dance down the hall and upstairs to my room. I was going to Hogwarts!

**A/N:**

**Well, here's my first chapter, and I have the rest of them planned out for Book One, so they shouldn't be too far behind, assuming all goes according to plan.**

**Until next chapter,**

**~Sno**


	2. Diagon Alley

**Chapter 1: Diagon Alley**

I spent the next week driving my aunt and uncle insane with all kinds of questions about Hogwarts before they finally decided to take me into Diagon Alley to buy the required supplies. This, of course, only increased my excitement so that by the morning we were to go shopping, I was dancing around the kitchen while Sunny hooted up a storm. Poor Aunt Ivy finally cast a silencing charm on him to make him shut up.

The look on that owl's face, when he suddenly can't hoot anymore but is trying to, is one of the most hilarious things I have ever seen.

We started out the morning at the Leaky Cauldron, and while Aunt Ivy and Uncle Ben each bought a cup of tea, I told everyone who was willing to listen that I was going to Hogwarts in two weeks. They mostly just nodded a lot and smiled knowingly at each other. When Aunt Ivy apologized embarrassedly to a group of old women with funny-looking hats, they just said, "Oh, it's no trouble dear, we've all been through the same thing. Just wait, you'll be so proud of her once she gets there."

I beamed happily and Aunt Ivy practically had to drag me away from them so that we could start shopping.

We bought my books at a store called Flourish and Blotts, which was filled to bursting with shelves that housed books of all kinds on every subject imaginable. They ranged from biographies on famous witches and wizards to large tomes full of dark magic to odd little household-help volumes for problems like garden gnomes and invasive weeds.

There were eight books on my list, none of which looked nearly as interesting as _Befuddling__the__Bulgarians:__A__Tale__of__Magical__Con-Artistry_, which Uncle Ben plucked out of my eager hands and refused to let me buy. I have a feeling he didn't want me getting any ideas from the author, who appeared to be the con artist himself.

Instead of the autobiography, I used my allowance to purchase _Quidditch__for__Dummies_. I had always been interested in Quidditch and I was a fair flier, but I'd never been to a match and I knew very little about the game itself. I figured a lot of people at school would want to talk about Quidditch, so the more I could learn before I boarded the train in September, the better.

When they finally got me to leave the bookshop, they pulled me down the street to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Among all the fascinating stores that surrounded it, Madam Malkin's struck me as rather boring. It was very hot inside, and as a sales witch unceremoniously yanked massive amounts of black fabric over my head to fit me, I felt as if I might sweat to death.

There were several other Hogwarts students-to-be in the fitting room at the same time as me, and they all seemed equally uncomfortable. One tiny girl with a shock of bright red hair was even crying.

Just as the witch was putting the finishing touches on my robes, which now consisted of significantly less material, there was a loud bang from the other side of the room. I stood on my tiptoes to find that a round-faced boy with ears that stuck out had tripped over a mound of cloth and knocked over a large box of ribbons and lace, which were now scattered across the floor.

"Oh, Neville," sighed the no-nonsense-looking woman accompanying him. She pulled him to his feet and began apologizing to Madam Malkin, who had come scurrying in at the sound of the crash. I felt sorry for the boy as Aunt Ivy quietly thanked the witch helping us and rushed me out of the store.

By the time we got to Ollivander's wand shop it was getting on toward evening and Aunt Ivy and Uncle Ben were exhausted. They sent me in by myself, and went down the street to buy ice cream at Fortescue's. When I walked through the door a rush of stale air swept past me, and I shivered.

"Hello?" I called out when I found the store seemingly empty. My voice came out as a nervous squeak, and I cleared my throat in embarrassment, tugging anxiously on the hem of my sleeve.

An old man with piercingly pale eyes and a cloud of wispy white hair stepped out from behind a shelf and smiled. "Ah, Miss Black. I wondered when I'd be seeing you in here."

I took a hesitant step forward. My mouth suddenly felt very dry, because this man, whom I could only assume was the wand-maker Ollivander himself, _knew__who__I__was_.

He seemed to understand my questions without needing me to voice them, because he gestured for me to come farther into the shop and said in a soft voice, "Yes, I know who your father is. You look incredibly like him, you know, although I imagine you have a bit of your mother in you, as well."

I was afraid to ask _how_ he knew all this when my mother had spent years trying to cover up my lineage, so I remained silent and allowed him to begin the process of finding the proper wand for me. He scanned the neat piles of narrow boxes, muttering to himself all the while about my parents' wands. I gathered that my mother had favored a bendy maple wand with a unicorn tail hair as the core. I very conspicuously cleared my throat again when he began to speak of my father's wand. As much as I wanted to learn more about my father, I doubted this old man was the right source of that information.

His eyes saw far too much, and when his eyes momentarily met mine, I felt as though he could see straight through to my soul.

After a few minutes of searching, Mr. Ollivander pulled a box carefully from one of the perfect stacks and removed the wand inside to hand it to me. It was particularly ugly, and almost the moment I touched it, he snatched it back and said, "No, no…" He selected a few more and handed them to me taking each of them back in turn as if he was waiting for something spectacular to happen.

The last wand he handed me struck me as having a delicate beauty. Its wood was so pale that it was almost white, and small, overlapping lines were carved into it. When I took it from Mr. Ollivander, silver sparks flew from the tip, illuminating the room.

"Good, very good," he exclaimed, clapping his hands together in apparent delight. "Birch and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches. Very swishy. That will do you well in all subjects, Miss Black, so long as you use it as intended."

I felt a slight shiver at the warning in his words, and quickly handed over the eleven galleons to pay for it. I rushed out of the shop and shook out the goosebumps that had risen on my arms. '_Thank__Merlin__I__'__ll__never__have__to__go__in__there__again!_' I thought with relief.

I had a feeling that if I spent too much time around Mr. Ollivander, I would discover many more uncomfortable truths about the side of my family that I'd spent my life trying to forget.

**A/N:**

**So this took about five tries to make it acceptable. And a lot of editing help, which spawned the following cheesy joke which I felt it necessary to share:**

**How do you travel through the Floo Network?  
><em>Diagon<em>_Alley_**

**Now I'm probably going to get inundated with rotten tomatoes for my poor attempt at humor, so I'll take my leave (for now).**

**~Sno**


	3. The Hogwarts Express

**Chapter 2: The Hogwarts Express**

On the morning of September 1, I woke up at six o'clock and couldn't go back to sleep. My dreams had been particularly unsettling, and my stomach was twisting and flip-flopping in constant motion; I was just too anxious to sleep.

Uncle Ben drove me to King's Cross Station on his way to work and spent the ride giving me advice on how to be successful at school.

"Watch out for the staircases, they like to move, and some of the doors are fickle, too. Some of them aren't doors at all – you'll figure out which walls like to pretend soon enough – and others just have to be tickled to open up. Oh, and watch out for Peeves."

"Who's Peeves?" I was bouncing in my seat, readily absorbing every bit of information, and my eyes were wide with wonder at the picture he was painting in my mind.

"A poltergeist. He –"

"Really? That's so cool!"

He chuckled darkly. "You say that now. Just wait until he douses you with water when it's snowing outside or throws chalk at you when you're late for class."

I was slightly put off by his assumption that I would be late for class at some point, but I just continued to listen. He was making it sound more like I'd be lucky to make it to a single one on time.

When we arrived at the station, he helped me load my luggage onto a trolley and then gave me a hug goodbye. He was a Healer at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and had a meeting at eleven about a particularly troublesome patient, so he couldn't actually see me off. I still felt generally well-prepared as I pushed my trolley through the barrier between platforms nine and ten. None of the muggles noticed me going through – they were too busy staring at a large family of redheads pushing several trolleys at once, one of which was topped with an owl cage. I grinned at the dubious looks the muggles were giving them, and then I was staring at a large scarlet steam engine on a platform labeled "Platform 9 ¾".

I lifted my trunk off the trolley and tried to carry it onto the train, but I could barely take a single step. It hadn't occurred to me when I packed it that I would have to carry it anywhere, and I now saw the flaw in my reasoning: it was far too heavy to get it up the steps, let alone lift it into an overhead luggage compartment.

Just as I was about to give up, a boy with wild, jet-black hair appeared beside me and asked, "Would you like some help?"

I sighed in relief. "Yes, please." The two of us were just able to lift the trunk onto the train and stow it with his in an otherwise empty compartment.

There were only a few minutes left before the train was scheduled to leave, so we just took the seats by the window and waited. Neither of us, it seemed, had families here to whom we were saying our farewells.

"I'm Selena Moore," I said suddenly, realizing that I'd forgotten to introduce myself. I stuck out a hand, and he shook it, seeming as surprised as I was by my random outburst.

"Harry Potter," he said, and my eyebrows shot up.

"Really?" I bit my lip to keep from saying anything stupid. There was no need to lose my head over something as trivial as his fame. He seemed not to notice and just nodded.

I turned awkwardly to watch out the window. The family of redheads I had noticed in the station was visible just outside the window, and I smiled wistfully. I wished I had a family like that – brothers and sisters, a mother who was alive to take care of me… a father I didn't need to be ashamed of.

As the train pulled out of the station, the compartment door slid open and the youngest redheaded boy stepped in timidly. "Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat next to me. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry and I both shook our heads, and the boy sat down next to me, watching the two of us curiously. I felt slightly uncomfortable under his gaze, and pulled at the hem of my sleeve. I had dressed in muggle clothing that morning, not wanting to attract too much unnecessary attention by dressing oddly – we were supposed to blend in, and wearing full-length black robes certainly wouldn't be muggle-savvy.

"Hey Ron," a voice at the door said, and the three of us turned to see two redheaded boys who had to be identical twins standing there. "Listen, we're going down the middle of the train – Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there." I perked up at the mention of the tarantula. Spiders were kind of awesome.

They apparently had nothing more to say about it, however, as they turned to Harry next and said, "Harry, did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then." And then they were gone.

Ron turned to face Harry as soon as the compartment door slid shut and said, "Are you really Harry Potter?" in an all-too-eager voice.

Harry just nodded. He was apparently used to being constantly questioned as to the truthfulness of his identity, although I couldn't imagine why anyone would lie about who they were – especially someone as famous as Harry Potter.

"Oh – well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes. And have you really got – you know…." He pointed at Harry's forehead. I just rolled my eyes at the exchange. The boy was treating Harry like some kind of zoo animal that should be kept behind bars for the sole purpose of letting people stare at it.

When Harry pulled back his hair to reveal the famous, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, Ron just gawked at it in awe.

"So that's where You-Know-Who –?"

"Yes," Harry said, but he was quick to add, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" Couldn't this kid catch a hint? Harry obviously didn't want to talk about the night his parents had been killed. I could sympathize with that – whenever the subject of my mother's illness came up, I became strangely quiet or tried to change the topic as quickly as possible.

"Well – I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow." Ron was finally quiet then, but he continued to gape at Harry like he wasn't completely certain he was real.

I'd finally had enough and said abruptly, "It's rude to stare, you know."

Ron jumped and turned his gaze once again on me. "And you are?"

"Selena Moore," I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Don't tell me you're from that family of nutters who're obsessed with plants." He seemed to hope, however, that I would say the exact opposite.

"We're not obsessed," I snapped. "We're _passionate_. And don't act like you're so high and mighty – without people who cared about plants, most of the potions in the world would have gone completely undiscovered."

He just snorted in contempt, and I turned pointedly away from him.

Harry didn't seem quite comfortable with where the conversation was going, so he asked quickly, "Are all your family wizards?"

Ron leapt into a detailed account of his family, thoroughly overtaking the discussion, so I leaned my head against the window. How was it that I hadn't noticed how utterly exhausted I was? The countryside was flashing by in a blur of green grass and white sheep, and I let the rhythm of the wheels turning under us lull me to sleep.

I'm not sure how long I slept, but when I woke it was to the sound of raised voices. "…my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

I sat up groggily and found three boys I'd never seen before standing in the doorway to the compartment. One of them was small and thin with a slightly pinched face, and other two were thickset. The way they stood on either side of the smaller boy gave the impression of bodyguards, and I fought back a grin at the thought.

Ron was apparently amused too, because he coughed to hide a laugh, causing the Malfoy boy to round on him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Even I bristled at that comment, and I said, "That's funny, because my mother told me that all the Malfoys are spoiled, arrogant gits who think they own the world."

"And you are?" he sneered, looking me up and down.

"Selena Moore," I told him defiantly. If Ron had been put off by my name, this boy certainly would, but I didn't care. I hardly needed his approval to be happy at school. He was clearly a pureblood of the worst sort – the kind who thought blood status was more important than strength of character.

He just laughed coldly and turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Harry just frowned and said, "I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks."

A faint smile touched my lips, but I was quick to hide it. I had a feeling the two goons would have no problem hitting a girl, and I didn't want to start school with a black eye or broken bones.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," Malfoy said. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and Moores, and it'll rub off on you."

We all stood up, furious. "You've got some nerve, Malfoy!" I snarled as Ron growled, "Say that again."

"Oh, you're going to fight us now, are you?" He seemed to think we were a bad joke, and he was waiting for the punchline.

"Unless you get out now." Harry looked like he wasn't quite sure about that but wanted to stand up for us anyway. I was struck by the thought that he would probably make a good Gryffindor.

"But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Before any of them could make a move on the candy spread over the seats in the compartment, I yanked my wand out of my pocket and said, "You heard him. Out. Now."

"You wouldn't," Malfoy said, backing up cautiously, but he didn't sound too sure of himself.

"Do you really want to stick around and find out?" I really hoped they didn't, because I didn't actually know any spells that would inflict damage. I was more likely to wind up with my brand new wand snapped in half.

Fortunately for me they seemed to think I would be capable of doing more than shooting sparks at them, because they turned on their heels and fled the compartment.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and collapsed back into my seat.

Ron and Harry were both staring at me incredulously. "What?" I asked, yawning. My nap had been interrupted by the fight – I'd been quite enjoying it – or I probably wouldn't have done something so rash.

"You wouldn't have, would you?" Ron asked, as if judging my sanity.

I shrugged. "Maybe – if I'd known the right spell to do it."

They just continued to stare at me, and I said, "You two had better change. I expect we'll be arriving soon." They just blinked at me. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, I'll leave while you change, and then you can go out there while I do."

They blinked again. "Idiots," I grumbled as I stepped out into the corridor. I was immediately jostled up against the wall, my shoulder painfully coming into contact with something very solid. Through the windows in one of the open compartments nearby I could see that it was dark outside, and I was certain the train was slowing down.

It wouldn't be long before I got my first glimpse of the school that would be my home for the next nine months. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I grinned. There were all kinds of adventures to be had in a school as legendary as Hogwarts, and I could barely wait to discover which ones I would claim for my own in the coming years.


	4. The Sorting

**Chapter 3: The Sorting**

No more than five minutes later, just as I was straightening my robes in the compartment, the train finally came to a stop. I leapt back out into the corridor to find Harry and Ron before they were absorbed into the mad rush of people trying to get off the train.

We were pushed and jostled out onto the platform along with everyone else, and as we emerged into the crisp chill of the evening, I heard a voice bellowing over the excited chatter of all the students around me.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?"

I gaped as I saw a man who was large enough to be a small giant wading through the sea of students with a lantern. "Do you _know_ him?" I asked Harry in an incredulous whisper.

He nodded. "That's Hagrid. He's the gamekeeper."

All I could say was, "Oh." I vaguely remembered my mother mentioning him when she told me stories of her own time at school, but in my anxiety I couldn't remember any of them.

Hagrid herded the group of first years that had nervously gathered around him down a very steep, slippery slope. I wondered absently why we were being taken to the school separately from everyone else, but then Hagrid called back, "Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here," and all other thoughts were pushed promptly out of my head.

"Oh!" I gasped breathlessly. I stopped in my tracks at the sight of the large castle. It was magnificent. The stone turrets and towers spiraled up into the sky, and the grounds seemed to stretch on forever. I could only imagine what it would look like when the sun illuminated its glorious splendor.

Until Hagrid called out, "No more'n four to a boat!" I hadn't even realized that we were standing on the shore of a large black lake. The moon and stars were reflected brightly on its surface, completing the surreal scene laid out before me.

Harry, Ron, and a girl with enormously bushy brown hair were followed into a boat by a fearful-looking boy who I recognized from Madam Malkin's. Harry shrugged apologetically when he realized there was no room for me, and I climbed into a boat that only had three occupants instead; two boys and one girl.

All three gave me strange looks that said I clearly wasn't welcome as I settled awkwardly between them. One of the boys looked scrawny and underfed, and the other distinctly Italian, with tan skin and dark hair. The girl was petite and blonde and regarded me coldly with frosty blue eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked rudely.

"Selena Moore," I informed her, trying to keep my voice from wavering. I had somehow stumbled upon a group of people who were clearly out of the pureblood supremacist mold, like Malfoy.

"Daphne, be nice," the Italian boy scolded. The blonde just scoffed and threw him a withering look, so he turned to me. "Don't mind her. I'm Blaise Zabini, and this is Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass."

"Very, erm… nice to meet you," I lied.

He just smirked and asked, "What House do you think you'll be in?"

I didn't see the point in lying again, so I just said, "I'm hoping for Gryffindor, but I certainly wouldn't mind Ravenclaw, either."

He didn't seem to have any response to that, but his companions both narrowed their eyes at me, and Nott looked tempted to push me overboard. Thankfully, the boat bumped into the opposite shore then, so I jumped out and hurried over to rejoin Harry and Ron.

"Who were they?" Harry asked with interest.

I shuddered. "No one I want to spend a lot of time with."

Hagrid left us with a strict-looking woman called Professor McGonagall in the entrance hall, which itself was large enough to be an entire building. The interior of the castle was even more impressive than the outer walls suggested. An enormous stone staircase led to the higher floors, of which there seemed to be an infinite number. Marble statues and suits of armor stood on plinths set back in the walls every few feet. The vaulted ceiling stretched high out of reach.

It was beyond anything I could have imagined.

It was several minutes before they finally led us into the Great Hall where the rest of the school was waiting, and I was once again awestruck by the incredible grandeur surrounding me. Thousands of candles hovered above four tables that stretched the length of the hall, and when I looked up, my jaw dropped. The ceiling was enchanted to take on the appearance of the sky outside, and it was currently dotted with brilliant stars against a deep blue background. The effect was stunning.

Then I was distracted as Professor McGonagall brought out a stool upon which a very ancient, ugly hat was sitting. I heard a few sighs of relief and a few murmured questions – people had suggested everything from fighting trolls to dueling each other as the means of Sorting.

And then the hat started to sing.

It explained its purpose through lyrical verses and described each of the Houses. I was surprised when even a supposedly fair-minded judge made Slytherin sound bad – I wasn't sure how anyone could ever _want_ to be a Slytherin after hearing that.

It finished the song and I was so in awe that I forgot to clap; by the time I realized that I should be applauding along with everyone else, the Hall had fallen silent again.

"Abbott, Hannah," Professor McGonagall called out, now reading our names off a long scroll, and my stomach flipped as a little blonde girl with pigtails walked up to the stage nervously and pulled on the hat.

I suddenly couldn't remember what name had been on my letter. After my encounter with Mr. Ollivander, I was less sure of my assumption that no one but my family and a _very_ select few others knew who my father was. Was it possible that I would be starting as a Black here, instead of a Moore, as I had been raised? The thought made me slightly queasy, and I swallowed. What had my letter said? I was so focused on the first line, the announcement of my acceptance, that I never even read the line acknowledging the identity of the actual acceptee.

The hat announced loudly that Hannah Abbott, was a Hufflepuff, and I held my breath. _'Please, oh please,'_ I thought fervently, _'Don't let them make me a Black!'_

"Bones, Susan!"

I sighed in relief. The girl next to me in line, a severe-looking black girl with thick eyebrows, eyed me strangely and took a step back.

The line dwindled slowly as each student was Sorted, and I noticed that the hat took longer to Sort some students than others. Daphne Greengrass, for example, the girl from the boat, had barely put it on her head when the hat cried out, "SLYTHERIN," and she flounced off to join the nasty-looking table to my right. True to everything I had heard about Slytherin House growing up, they looked like a particularly unpleasant lot. Frowning, I took a small step to the left, trying to put some distance between them and myself.

Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, sat on the stool for a long time before the hat finally put him in Gryffindor. I tried not to laugh when he ran off wearing the hat; he seemed genuinely nice, if a little absentminded.

The next few minutes seemed to drag on for ages as Professor McGonagall moved into the 'M's. Finally – _finally_ – Lillian Moon became a Gryffindor, and McGonagall called out, "Moore, Selena," and I suddenly couldn't breathe.

The cluster of students parted to let me through, and I climbed onto the stage carefully, trying not to make a fool of myself by tripping before I'd even gotten through a single day.

I perched myself on the edge of the stool and pulled the hat on slowly, jumping slightly when a small voice whispered in my ear. "Interesting, very… interesting. A Black, I see… no? It's been quite a while since I've seen anyone with a mind so… turbulent. And stubborn, yes, but bold, very bold."

I was frozen in place as the Hat assessed my mind so that I could hear its active consideration. I felt extremely exposed as it continued to speak quietly about the parts of myself that I attempted most often to hide. "A strong mind, full of opinions, and secretive, very secretive.… A deep sense of individualism, but… hmm… clever, sly, a decent mind for sure. A difficult choice, very difficult. But you are strong in everything, so I think it had better be… GRYFFINDOR!"

The last word was shouted loudly for everyone to hear, and in my relief I could only note with detachment the enormous cheer that had gone up from the table on my far right. I removed the hat as quickly as possible and scurried off to join the other five first years already sitting at the table.

Somehow I ended up seated between Ron's twin brothers, with a pompous-looking ghost wearing tights and a large ruff around his neck sitting nearby and the bushy-haired girl that had ridden in the boat with Harry, Ron, and Neville across from me. I had a feeling this was going to be a very long night.

I registered enough to clap through my shock as another girl joined our table, this one distinctly exotic-looking with her dark hair worn in a long plait down her back.

I was just coming out of my adrenaline-induced shock as Professor McGonagall called out, "Potter, Harry," and the Great Hall broke out into surprised whispers.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?" Everyone seemed surprised that such a celebrity would even bother to attend a common school – as common as a school for magic could get, that is – and I even heard a boy who must have been Muggle-born whisper in astonishment, "You mean he's actually _real_?"

I just rolled my eyes as Harry made his way up to the stool. The hat was so large that it covered half his face, but I noticed that his features were screwed up in intense concentration. I wondered what exactly the hat would be whispering to him; surely it would have some appreciation for the fact that it was speaking to _Harry Potter_, even though it was just an ugly old hat (if a rather intelligent one).

He sat there for what seemed like an incredibly long time but was most likely only a minute or two – I could only imagine how long it felt to Harry – before the hat finally cried, "GRYFFINDOR!" and the loudest cheer yet went up at our table.

Everyone was screaming with pride at the honor of having the great Boy-Who-Lived in their House, and the twins actually jumped up on either side of me and began chanting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" so exuberantly that I was sorely tempted to cover my ears but decided it would probably be rude.

I shot Harry a wide grin as he sat down across from the ruff-wearing ghost, and he smiled back just as cheerfully. Whatever internal battle he had been fighting with the hat, he appeared to have won.

There were only a few students left to be Sorted then, and we watched with interest as the rest of the nervous students were sent off to tables to join the older students. Ron joined us, taking a seat next to Harry, and finally Blaise Zabini, the boy from the boat, was the last one to be Sorted.

I felt a slight pang of disappointment as the hat called out "SLYTHERIN!" Something told me there was something different about the Italian, something that set him apart from his snobby friends. Call it as-yet undeveloped feminine instincts or a young girl's wishful thinking, but for some odd reason I actually liked the new Slytherin; there was something intriguing about him that caught my eye.

As the stool and hat were carried out of the Hall, Professor Dumbledore stood to address the assembled students with a beatific smile. "Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat again, and this time I joined the cheer as loudly as everyone else. The twins were both roaring with laughter, and I glanced at the girl across from me in bewilderment. She just shrugged at me. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but then I lost the power of speech once again as food simply appeared on the numerous gold platters spread across the table. There was more food than I had ever seen in my life, and I wasn't sure where to begin. Just as I was reaching to start on the brilliant assortment, the twins started speaking to me in unison.

"Hello!"

"Welcome to Hogwarts!"

"I'm Fred."

"And I'm George."

"What's your name?"

They were grinning wickedly as I attempted to look at both of them at the same time, and it took me a second to catch up with everything they'd said.

"Erm… Selena," I finally answered.

"Well, Erm Selena, we happened to notice that you have already befriended our little brother –"

"– and we feel it necessary to warn you that he is no fun –"

"– pathetic –"

"– overly blunt –"

"– and mildly stupid."

I blinked, no longer trying to look at each of them as they spoke, instead settling on looking at neither as I resumed the task of piling my plate with food. "That's going to take some getting used to," I said. "And on account of your brother, I would tend to agree, although I would like to petition you to add 'ignorant' and 'argumentative' to that list."

"Do you know, Fred, I think we're going to like this one," George said, slinging an arm jovially across my shoulders.

"George, I couldn't agree more," Fred beamed, adding his own arm.

"Er… umm…." The two seemed completely oblivious to the fact that the combined weight of their arms had forced me to slump forward into the table so that my loose hair trailed in my food. "Hello!" I said, trying to get their attention.

They looked at me and jumped back at seeing my awkward position. "Sorry," they said.

As they dug into the feast, apparently no longer interested in speaking, I spoke instead to the girl across from me. "I'm Selena Moore," I said, introducing myself.

She seemed somewhat surprised at my willingness to speak to her, as everyone else in the vicinity appeared to be ignoring her, but she recovered quickly and said, "Hermione Granger. You're friends with Harry Potter, aren't you?"

I shrugged as I took a bite of potato and said, "I suppose. We only met today, but we're in the same House now, so that's got to be something, right?"

"Don't you know anyone else here?" She seemed as interested in the Wizarding world as Harry had, and I wondered if she might be Muggle-born.

"Not really," I admitted. "My mother raised me pretty separate from other children like us. We kept to ourselves a lot. What about you?"

"Well, I…" she trailed off, looking sheepish. "I didn't know I was a witch until a few weeks ago, so everyone I know are Muggles. I'm really worried, you know, that I'm going to be behind in classes because of it, and I've read all the books I can about the differences between living as a Muggle and as a witch, and I've memorized all the course books by heart, but I just don't know if it's going to be enough."

She said all of this very fast, and I felt simultaneously woefully unprepared for my classes and as if I'd just been told a secret.

"Well, I think you'll be fine," I reassured her. "There are a lot of people who come from Muggle families, and none of us really know any magic until we go to school. Underage witches and wizards aren't supposed to do magic outside of school, it's against the rules."

Her eyes widened in horror. "But I have done magic! I mean, it wasn't anything big, but I'm pretty sure I made a horrible boy in my class stick to his desk once, and I tried some spells at home after I got my wand, and…." She trailed off uncertainly.

I grinned easily, suddenly feeling much more confident in my knowledge of the world I'd grown up in. "They don't really care before we're eleven, because we haven't been taught to control it yet," I explained knowledgably. "It's only once we're here that they start to enforce the regulations. Before that it's on our parents, and since yours are Muggles, there's not much they can do about it."

She still seemed uncertain, but went back to her food looking slightly less apprehensive.

As we followed the Prefects up to the Gryffindor Common Room later that evening, I decided that this school wasn't nearly as scary as my uncle had made it out to be.

**A/N:**

**So it was a long time coming, but Selena has finally been Sorted, and if you didn't notice, we've met some different characters here than just your basic new Gryffindor crowd. After all, what fun would all of this be if she was only friends with the Trio? Hopefully it doesn't take me nearly as long to muddle through the writing of Chapter 4.**

**~Sno**


	5. Famous Last Words

**Chapter 4: Famous Last Words**

My confidence in my abilities lessened considerably over the next several days. I barely found my way to breakfast the next morning, and that was after three wrong turns and asking for directions twice, once from the ghost of a very fat friar who was extremely friendly; it took me five minutes to get away from him without seeming rude as he cheerfully described every wonderful thing he could think of about Hufflepuff House before realizing I was a Gryffindor.

Our schedules were equally confusing. We didn't have our classes every day, but instead had some of them only two or three times a week. We even had Astronomy at midnight on Wednesdays, a fact that made me wonder how in the world they expected us to ever get enough sleep.

I was disappointed to discover that we had Herbology only three times a week, but it seemed that Professor Sprout, a perpetually cheerful witch with wildly curly hair, was just as pleased to be teaching me as I was to be in her class. She took roll at the beginning of our first class, and when she reached my name she looked up to give me a little nod and a wink. Between Hermione and me, we managed to earn about twenty points for Gryffindor in that first class alone.

I also found quickly that Charms and Transfiguration weren't nearly as exciting as I might have expected. We didn't jump directly into any kind of spellwork; we were set to take pages and pages of complicated notes on proper safety when working with spells.

Professor McGonagall held high expectations for her students. Despite the fact that we had Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, the only student who gained any approval for turning their matchstick into a needle was Hermione. The Ravenclaws all shot glares at her as we collected our books to head to lunch, but I offered her a smile – it seemed she'd had no reason to worry after all. She was a standout in every subject.

Seamus Finnigan, another new Gryffindor, managed to splinter his own matchstick to bits, showering the unfortunate girl sitting next to him with sharp pieces of wood. She was sent to the hospital wing in tears to get the small cuts healed and, I suspected, a strong Calming Draught. I made a mental note to avoid sitting near Seamus in classes.

History of Magic was by far the most boring subject. The teacher was a ghost, and his idea of an introduction was his name and that of the class before launching into a lecture on a war that had happened between goblins and wizards in the BC era. I tried to take notes, but after five minutes I was struggling just to remain properly conscious and decided it would be a better idea to wheedle Hermione into lending me hers. Judging by the copious amount of writing she was doing, she had copied down every word he said and then some.

The girl had some serious stamina in her fingers if she could write at that speed for that long.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was disappointing on a completely different level. While I had expected its intensity to be equal to Transfiguration, it turned out to be more of a joke. The teacher, Professor Quirrell, was jumpy and nervous and seemed afraid of his students half the time. I had a feeling I wasn't going to be learning much at all from him.

On Friday, we had Potions for the first time, and I was decidedly not looking forward to the only class we had with the Slytherins. It was even taught by the head of Slytherin House. When Harry, Ron, and I stepped through the door, however, I was struck by a familiar predicament: everyone in Gryffindor had already paired off at the little tables, and only the three of us were left. Harry and Ron gave me apologetic looks and took the last table on the Gryffindor side, leaving me to partner up with one of the not-so-friendly-looking Slytherins on the other side of the room.

And the only open seat was next to Nott, the boy from the boat.

Just. My. Luck.

As melodramatic as it may be, it felt like I was walking to my death as I made my way across the dungeon room in which the class was held. I sat on the edge of the stool as far from him as I could and forced myself to look at nothing but the table in front of me. I could feel his eyes burning as he turned to look at me, but I didn't return his gaze. I took a deep breath and kept my eyes facing forward. I was certain that my cheeks were blazing a crimson deep enough to match the trim on my robes.

Someone got up from the row behind us and walked around to Nott. It wasn't until they leaned over to say something to him in a hushed voice that I realized it was Blaise Zabini.

Nott was out of his seat faster than I would have thought possible, and sitting where Blaise had been with the Greengrass girl, who seemed particularly put out by the exchange. Blaise took the seat beside me as soon as it was vacated, and I forgot that I wasn't supposed to look at him in my surprise.

Instead of the vicious glare I expected to receive, however, Blaise threw me a surreptitious wink.

Then Professor Snape swept into the room and made his way immediately to the desk at the front of the room. He took roll like Professor Sprout without any kind of introduction.

Not that he really needed one – his reputation preceded him.

As he read down the list, his eyes flicked up to match a face to each name. When he reached mine, his eyes flicked up not once, but twice, and it occurred to me that he was the right age to have been at school with my parents. Judging by the look on his face, he was as aware of my similarity to my father as my mother had been, and he was determined to hate me for it. The cold loathing in his eyes as they met mine for the second time made my breath catch in my throat. I swallowed hard to remove the lump that had risen there.

He paused in the same way when he reached Harry's name, but instead of moving on after a moment of silence, he said softly, "Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new… _celebrity_." My eyes narrowed slightly, and the Slytherins all chuckled, including Blaise. I threw him what I hoped was a withering look and turned to watch Harry's reaction. He was staring Snape down, his chin raised defiantly; Harry, it seemed, was as aware of the man's hatred as I was.

When he reached the end of the roster, Snape surveyed the classroom with narrowed eyes. "You are here to learn the exact art and subtle science of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't believe you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

I smiled despite myself. Being paired with a Slytherin would be something of a double-edged sword for me – he wouldn't be able to mark my potions down just for being a Gryffindor, as I had heard he liked to do, but if there were any disasters, they would be blamed on me.

"Potter!" Snape snapped suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

I turned once again to look at my friend, who looked completely bewildered. _Draught of Sleeping Death_, I thought, desperately hoping that he would prove Snape wrong about him. Then again, it was probably something I only knew through the family business, as almost everyone else in the class (save, of course, Hermione) looked as clueless as Harry.

"I don't know, sir," he finally said.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything," Snape sneered, and I glared at him. He had no right to put a student on the spot like that on the first day of class. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

_A what?_ I didn't remember reading about any such thing in my textbooks, and Harry, judging by the blank look on his face, didn't either. Hermione, on the other hand, was bouncing eagerly up and down with her hand in the air. She seemed desperate to prove that she was not, as Snape had put it, a dunderhead. He ignored her, however, keeping his eyes leveled on Harry.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Harry maintained a steady gaze to meet Snape's, but I could tell he felt the barrage was as unfair as I did.

It seemed Snape wasn't done yet. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

I blinked. Monkshood, as far as I knew, was a plant, and the Wolfsbane Potion was intended for use by werewolves. The question might more appropriately have been what the two had in common, although I was at a loss for that as well.

"I don't know," Harry repeated once again. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

I laughed and tried to catch Harry's eye to give him an encouraging nod, but he was still watching Snape for a reaction.

The man's already-thin lips narrowed into a white line as he pressed them together, and his black eyes narrowed to slits. "Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

I reached into my bag and pulled out a piece of parchment to write down the facts that he had just spewed at us, and sighed deeply when he added, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Because it was so obviously Harry's fault that Snape had decided to make an example out of him.

He set us to work on a relatively simple potion for curing boils, and I was left with no one but Blaise for companionship as everyone focused on getting the work right. After Snape's blatant show of dislike for Harry, no one wanted to invoke his anger again. I thought perhaps that was his intention – making everyone so terrified of him that they were all perfect little students for the rest of the year.

Blaise and I worked mostly in silence, speaking only to discuss our assignment. I would have been grateful if it weren't for the cryptic little half-smiles he shot me every few minutes; as it was, I was somewhere between being confused and thinking I'd been right to peg him as different.

Then, just as Snape was praising Malfoy for about the twentieth time that class despite the fact that his potion didn't look nearly as good as mine or Hermione's, there was a screeching hiss and an enormous cloud of green smoke erupted to my left – Neville had managed to melt Seamus's cauldron and spray their potion over everything within a few feet, only narrowly missing hitting me in the face.

I leapt up onto my stool without a second thought, only just managing to grab my bag before the floor beneath me was flooded with lurid green potion.

Blaise jumped up onto his own stool beside me as every other student in the room followed suit, and the combination of reflex making me lean away from him and one minutely shorter leg on my stool left me reeling. I let out a shriek as I almost tumbled over and into the mess seeping across the floor.

Blaise reached out to steady me, and suddenly every eye in the room was not on Neville, who was sprouting numerous painful-looking boils, but on the two of us. The Gryffindors mostly just looked surprised, but the Slytherins looked livid and Malfoy was looking at me like he would have _pushed_ me off the stool if I hadn't fallen on my own. Blaise saw the attention being directed at us and relinquished his grip on my arm as quickly as if I had burned him.

We were saved the awkwardness of silence as Snape began yelling at Neville, who now looked on the verge of tears as he cringed away from the insults that should never have come from a professor. I knew, however, that no one was going to easily forget that I'd been friendly with a Slytherin, whether he was as slimy as the others or not.

**A/N:**

**I don't know what it is, but I've always been rather fond of Blaise. Maybe it's because he's the only Slytherin boy in the year who isn't the son of a Death Eater. Anyway, I adore him. This chapter seemed a little superfluous to me, but it was necessary none the less, so here it is.**

**~Sno**

**P.S. I really would appreciate a review to let me know what you think, if you've got a minute to drop me one. ;)**


	6. The Flying Lesson

**Chapter 5: The Flying Lesson**

The next Thursday afternoon found the Gryffindor first years trekking nervously down to the Quidditch pitch on the way to their first flying lesson, which was unfortunately to be shared with the Slytherins.

"I just don't understand why they force us to take classes with Slytherins when they _know_ we don't get along," Lavender Brown complained.

I rolled my eyes. "Nobody likes them, but they have to have classes with somebody."

Lillian Moon tossed her vivid red hair back from her face and said, "That's not true. The Hufflepuffs think they're just as awful as we do, but I've heard that the Ravenclaws don't mind them nearly so much."

"As if!" Parvati crowed, her exotic eyes narrowing. "My sister Padma is in Ravenclaw, and most of them hate the Slytherins as well, they're just not as vocal about it. You know, brains over brashness – at least, I think that's how she put it."

I didn't bother to point out that not all Slytherins were evil gits; I had earned enough odd looks about my opinion on Blaise after he had stopped me from falling to a gruesome, boil-covered death the previous Friday. I had decided that the incident was enough to merit calling him my friend, and Lavender and Parvati had spent the whole weekend under the delusion that I had a crush on him.

"It's still not very considerate of the teachers to make us deal with them when we already have Potions with them," Lavender sniffed.

"You know, I don't really think it's their goal to put us in classes with our friends," said Hermione, whom I had expected to speak long before then.

"Besides," I said, adding to this logic, "the Hufflepuffs have Astronomy, Transfiguration, and History with them, and the Ravenclaws get them for Charms, Herbology, and Defense. It's really only fair that it's a little more even."

The other girls, with the exception of Hermione, looked at me like I was mad, and Lillian let out a derisive snort. "Yes, we all know you want to spend more time with Zabini, but that doesn't mean the rest of us should be subjected to more time with them." The girls burst into fits of giggles.

I just shook my head and let them believe what they wanted. I had realized by dinnertime on Friday that they couldn't be discouraged and it was easier to just let them gossip about me.

By the time we reached the pitch the Slytherins were already there, and we were greeted by a woman called Madam Hooch who bore a strong resemblance to a hawk. She wasted no time in ordering us all to find a broom and stand on its left side. I stood on the opposite side of mine, and she walked over to me in annoyance. "Right hand over the broom, girl, right hand."

"I'm left-handed," I explained.

"_Right hand_," she insisted, and I sighed in resignation to stand on the other side of my broom. Goyle, the slightly larger of Malfoy's cronies, sniggered at me, but I just rolled my eyes at him. I doubted if he could tell one end of the broom from the other anyway.

"Now everyone say 'Up!'" Madam Hooch instructed, watching the group expectantly.

"Up!" I commanded, but the broom remained motionless, mocking me. "UP!" I repeated more forcefully, and the broom jumped into my hand. The people around me seemed to be having less luck, and I saw Nott reach down and pick his up off the ground when Madam Hooch wasn't looking.

My confidence grew a little when I mounted my broom and I reminded myself that I had flown before. Maybe I'd never been taught a proper grip – although Madam Hooch seemed to think mine was just fine, as it was one of the few she didn't correct – but I had been in the air before, and it wasn't nearly as intimidating as everyone was making it out to be.

It was a good while before she was satisfied with everyone's form on the ground, and then she followed up with even more instructions. "Now, when I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly."

That was it?

"On my whistle – three – two –"

Before she could finish her countdown, Neville was in the air, shooting up into the sky with blatant terror evident on his face. I shuddered as I saw him slip and heard the thud and _crack_ as he hit the ground.

Madam Hooch bent over to help Neville to his feet, and I couldn't help but wince in sympathy for the awkward angle of his wrist, which was obviously broken.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch'," she warned before she led a whimpering Neville away from the rest of the class.

As soon as she was out of earshot, the Slytherins were all hooting and doubled over with laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?" Malfoy crowed. He seemed absolutely delighted at Neville's misfortune.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati said angrily.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" Pansy Parkinson jeered. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Yeah, because you wouldn't stick up for Malfoy if he fell off his broom," I snarled, glaring at the pug-faced girl, "and he's a ferrety, egotistical prat!"

The Slytherins bristled, but Malfoy looked undaunted. "You know Moore, an attitude like that and you could almost be one of us."

I snorted. "Sorry, but I didn't meet the second qualification of being a heartless loser."

I never got to hear the clever rebuttal he was sure to give because at that precise moment, he bent down to snatch something off the ground and said, "Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." He held up a little glass ball that I recognized as the Remembrall Neville had received at breakfast that morning.

"Give it here, Malfoy." I turned around to find Harry, stony-faced and determined, standing just behind me. I stepped aside to allow the confrontation, and Harry took a step forward.

Malfoy shrugged. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about – up a tree?" He jumped onto his broom and soared easily in the air. I wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug look off his face, but I knew there was nothing I could do. There was no way I was following Malfoy into the air – my confidence against him lasted only so long as my feet were planted firmly on solid ground.

Harry seemed to have no such reservations as he grabbed his own broom and joined Malfoy fifty feet over our heads. I could hear nothing of their conversation, but I cheered along with the other Gryffindors as Harry leaned forward and shot toward Malfoy, only narrowly missing a head-on collision.

Then Malfoy threw the Remembrall high in the air, and there was a moment in which everything but the glittering ball seemed frozen in time before Harry turned in a sharp dive and reached out for it. He gathered speed as he raced the ball to the ground, and I turned away, waiting for the inevitable, painful crash.

It never came.

I turned back and found that Harry had landed as smoothly as Malfoy, his hand wrapped proudly around the Remembrall.

"HARRY POTTER!"

I flinched as the whole group spun around in surprise. Professor McGonagall was rushing toward us with a look of fury adorning her face. "_Never_ – in all my time at Hogwarts – how _dare_ you – might have broken your neck –"

Parvati, true to form, spoke up in his defense. "It wasn't his fault, Professor –"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil –"

Ron spoke up next. "But Malfoy –"

"That's _enough_, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me now." I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach as she forcibly led my friend back to the castle, and guilt twisted my stomach. I should have tried to stop him from breaking the rules so early in the year.

For the second time in a single, if particularly eventful, lesson, the Slytherins were all laughing. "Oh, did you _hear_ her?" Malfoy looked as if Christmas had come early. "He'll be out of here before dinner!"

My face contorted with rage and I sprung forward without thinking, intending to maul every inch of Malfoy I could get my hands on. A pair of hands caught my shoulders before I could close the gap between us.

"Let _go_!" I growled, trying to throw off whoever was keeping me from turning Malfoy into a bloody pulp. "I'm going to kill him, let _GO_!"

"No!" Ron said through gritted teeth as he fought to keep me still. Two more pairs of hands joined his in the effort to restrain me. I struggled against them, but it was useless.

"You'll get in what, one punch, and then those two oafs will kill _you_!" Seamus, apparently, was one of the people holding me back. I suspected Dean was the other, but I didn't care.

Malfoy was laughing at _me_ now, and I screamed in rage as I threw myself against the iron grip around my waist.

Another voice joined those telling me to stop being so stupid, and I froze. "What is going on here?" Madam Hooch demanded.

I slumped over, no longer fighting but wishing I could disappear.

"Quidditch?" I offered sheepishly.

That evening at dinner, Harry informed Ron and me that he had not been expelled, as we had all assumed, but instead been made Seeker on Gryffindor's House Quidditch team in replacement of Charlie Weasley, Ron's older brother, who had finished school the year before.

"I can't believe this!" I exclaimed furiously.

"What?" Harry asked. He seemed completely baffled by my outburst.

Ron tried to explain, but his thoughts seemed to have taken a very different path from my own. "First years _never_ – you must be the youngest house player in about –"

"– a century," Harry finished. "Wood told me."

"No!" I said. "I mean I can't believe I got detention for you while you were off getting… getting _recruited_!" I was eating as quickly as I could, because I was supposed to be in McGonagall's office by 6:30 to receive my detention.

"Oh," Ron said, frowning. "I hadn't thought about that."

"Lucky you," I muttered. After all, he wasn't the one giving up his Thursday evening; he was just the reason it wasn't even worth the hours in McGonagall's office – I hadn't gotten to actually fight, although that was what I was being punished for.

"Anyway, I start training next week," Harry said. He seemed extremely excited, but I imagined he was nervous as well, having never even ridden a broomstick before that afternoon. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

The twins came into the Hall just then and rushed over to sit down across from us. "Well done, Harry," George – at least, I think it was George – said quietly. "Wood told us. We're on the team too – Beaters." I shuddered delicately. Beaters had the most dangerous job on the pitch, and it was never something that particularly appealed to me.

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," Fred said. He was smiling brilliantly. "We haven't won since Charlie's first year, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

I laughed lightly. This Wood fellow sounded like he had an unhealthy Quidditch obsession, something that had not gone unnoticed by Ron, judging by the bemused look on his face.

"Anyway, we've got to go. Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

I glanced at my watch and sighed in resignation to my loss of perfectly good homework time. 6:20. "I'd better go too," I told my friends apologetically. "I want to drop my bag in my dorm before I head up to McGonagall's office."

I jumped up and followed the twins out of the Hall.

"McGonagall's office, eh?" Fred asked.

"Might that be for… detention?" George suggested slyly.

"Not a good start around here."

"Not a good start at all."

"But you know, I think she might have beaten our record."

"What record?" This whole exchange struck me as flat-out bizarre, but that bit caught my attention.

"You know, Fred, I think you might be right," George said, pondering this for a second before explaining it to me. "We didn't manage to get detention until the Saturday of our second week."

"You beat us by two whole days," Fred added.

I raised my eyebrows and could think of no other response. I understood from Ron's stories that Fred and George weren't exactly saints, but to be concerned about the timing of one's first detention….

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"Umm… no?" I hoped this was the right answer.

They seemed only too delighted to explain, and George grinned. "Why, it means that you have to uphold the lovely tradition of making Hogwarts life a little more… interesting –"

"– and a little less safe –" Fred added wickedly

" – by becoming an officially affiliated troublemaker."

"And, of course, there's an official initiation process. We wouldn't want anyone to think we weren't serious –"

"– about not being serious."

Fred paused to think for a second while I struggled to make sense of the disconcerting way in which they flowed in and out of each other's words. "For curiosity's sake, what did you do to get detention so quickly?"

"I _tried_ to beat Malfoy to death," I gritted out through my teeth.

"Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"A Slytherin?"

"Did you get him good?"

"I didn't get him at all," I admitted. "Your idiot little brother held me back."

"He _what_?" Fred yelped.

"He wouldn't," George growled. He looked murderous.

"He did."

"I'll kill him."

"Great." I rolled my eyes. "Do you want to take your punishment for that now with me, or would you like to wait until after you've actually done it?"

"You know, Fred?"

"Oh, I know, George."

"Know _what_?" Were they always this cryptic when they spoke to each other?

They turned to me with matching devious grins, and I swallowed, hard. They spoke together this time. "We know _exactly_ what your initiation is going to be."

I wasn't so sure I liked the sound of that. How had I managed to attract the attention of some of the strangest people in all of Hogwarts?

**A/N:**

**Ah, the twins. Another couple of my favorite characters, and with good reason. Anyway, I'm not big on disclaimers, as it is clear that I'm getting no commercial benefits because of where this is being posted, but I should mention that any familiar dialogue is taken from the books.**

**~Sno**


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